


Traces of Violet

by delphinidae



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair, Angst, F/F, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5981095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delphinidae/pseuds/delphinidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old jacket brings back old memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traces of Violet

**Author's Note:**

> my first fic for a popular pair (also the first angst fic i've written tbh) and its rly short and the writing style kinda shifts at the end BUT i hope you enjoy anyway i hope you enjoy your angst :)

All she wanted was that blasted navy blazer. The one she hadn't worn since she bought it all those months ago, long before she'd packed full a box of clothing she hardly wore for donation. She sighed as she neared the last hanger in the tightly packed closet. It was probably long gone.

At the last hanger, her hand trembled. She pulled it back instinctively like someone might have seen the flaw in her cover even though she was in her own small house where she lived alone with an old cat.

It was a long coat that triggered the reaction. One that buttoned up at the front and tied at the waist with a thin belt of fabric. She should have turned away but instead she was reaching for it again. Pulling it off its hanger, gathering it to her chest. She remembered how it made her feel the last time. When it meant there was a bond between her and its owner, one that could never be matched again because no one could match its owner.

It was a light violet colour that stood out in her mostly dark wardrobe. She rarely wore it even when it held that meaning, but she wished she had. She hated to wear it in front of its owner, not wanting to show that kind of weakness, but if it was left behind by mistake, before returning it she would sit in hole-in-the-wall coffee shops with it draped over her shoulders. Breathe in that warm scent and enjoy its velvet feel.

It used to remind her that she didn't have to be alone anymore.

Mindlessly, she slid her arms into the sleeves, buttoned it up to her throat.

It didn't smell like _her_ anymore. That must have faded while the dust gathered.

It didn't feel quite the same either. Instead she could have sworn it was tightening around her ribcage, threatening to crush bones and constricting her lungs so every breath was more painful than the last. 

But somewhere in that pain there was a familiar sensation. Although the air around her was growing too thick to inhale, she felt somehow revived.

She wondered if the owner of the jacket missed it. She wondered if the owner of the jacket missed her.

Tears welled in her eyes despite her efforts to hold them back. Had there ever been a time like this? Dressed in simple leggings and a camisole, missing her curled extensions and huddled against a wall in Kyoko Kirigiri's jacket? Crying?

Celestia Ludenberg didn't cry. She rarely even raised her voice.

Taeko Yasuhiro was crying.

Who was Taeko without the girl who made her feel significant? The only person who ever made her feel like enough?


End file.
